Return of the Fox Read online

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather view the ceremony from inside the church?” Both he and Father had tried to persuade Pablo earlier, but he’d declined. He’d been a family retainer for so long that behaving “properly” was deeply ingrained, and he insisted it wasn’t proper for an employee to be a guest at the wedding.

  “I’ll wait by the carriage, Señor Gabriel, as I did when your sister married Señor Braithwaite.”

  “As you wish.”

  Gabriel assisted Sorina and Tía Consuelo from their conveyance, leaving them with his father while he hastened to the side entrance to join the groom and his entourage. Lance and two military officers, whom Gabriel recognized as Lance’s friends Christopher Sutherland and Sean Mitchell, were already in place.

  When the time came to enter, he stood next to Lance and faced the doors at the back of the church as they opened.

  Two young girls came in first, wearing the kind of long white dresses they would wear for their first communion. They carried baskets of flower petals, which they scattered across the wooden floor.

  Gabriel adjusted his tight collar, almost afraid to breathe as the matron of honor walked toward him, carrying a single rose. Gowned in pale pink that brought out the flawless tones of her skin, Isabella moved slowly down the center aisle, her eyes downcast as if unsure of her cadence. For a second, she looked up and her gaze locked with his, her lips parting as if savoring the memory of a long-ago kiss. His heart pounded, and he forgot about the people who filled the pews, the priest and acolytes behind him, and the groom standing at his side. He only saw her, the woman he—

  Get ahold of yourself.

  Gabriel swallowed and stared back at the woman, replacing his unguarded expression with his usual smirk. Isabella was part of his past . . . the past he’d rather forget. Today was for his niece.

  As predicted, the ceremony took hours. Gabriel wasn’t sure his knees would survive the endless praying. When it ended, the bride and groom left the church, leaving Isabella eyeing him across the aisle. Remembering his duty, he extended his arm, and she touched it lightly as they walked together into the bright sunlight.

  Isabella broke away, putting a comfortable space between them, and shaded her eyes with her hand, probably searching for her equipage.

  “I’d offer you a ride, my dear, but I came by horse . . . unless you’d like to ride pillion.”

  Her response was an unladylike snort. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “It’s not far to the Union Hotel. You could walk.” He stood back and raised an eyebrow, letting his eyes drift from head to foot. “It appears you could use the exercise. How much weight have you gained since I’ve been gone? Surely not a stone? Not that I mind. It seems to be in the right places.”

  She flushed. “At least I’m not scrawny like you. Nor am I rude. Lack of nourishment during your exile must have affected your manners.”

  He grinned.

  Isabella glared at him, her beautiful mouth pursed in disapproval. “Don’t you have duties to attend to? Are you not in charge of the wedding reception?”

  “I am, dear lady, and I promise I will not disappoint.”

  “Unlike . . .” The word drifted into the air and hovered there while she seemed to find something interesting on the ground.

  Gabriel’s cheeks warmed, and his neckcloth suddenly seemed tight. The woman knew she could still unsettle him with well-placed innuendos.

  He mounted his horse and looked at her one last time. The wind had blown the mantilla off her face, and her dark hair shone with glints of auburn in the sun. A memory flashed of his face buried in its silky depths. He wondered if her hair still smelled like rose water.

  Saluting, he rode off, vowing to rebury old memories. Somehow he and Isabella would get through the next two days . . . for Sorina’s sake.

  ~ ~ ~

  Isabella watched the man ride away, his back straight, his muscular thighs gripping the horse’s flanks. She’d known Gabriel would be trouble the day she heard he’d been summoned home, but she hadn’t counted on the intensity of her feelings, feelings she’d convinced herself were safely buried beneath layers of well-earned maturity. What happened between them occurred long ago, and she’d put to rest any lingering anger.

  Until he walked into the Vega’s parlor during one of her visits, and it all came rushing back.

  How could she sit next to him at the wedding festivities and dance with him at the ball? Unfortunately, as matron of honor, she must endure it.

  She would simply have to ignore him.

  He won’t like that one bit.

  Or would he? An odd indolence marked his personality now, as if he wanted to fade into the walls. The old Gabriel dominated a room the moment he entered it, demanding attention, a secret smile always playing about his lips as he ignored the sighs of the adoring young women of his acquaintance.

  Except me. He never ignored me.

  She shook off the memory. Where was the carreta she’d hired?

  “Do you need a lift?” It was Captain Sutherland, Lance’s friend, the man she had hoped would be best man instead of Gabriel.

  “How kind. I confess I am in need of a ride. My conveyance seems to have gone astray.”

  “Then will you do me the honor of joining me?”

  She reached for the hand he extended and climbed as gracefully as she could onto the buckboard. “Where’s your horse?” she said. “I thought you might ride.”

  “It has thrown a shoe, so I hired this vehicle for the day, hoping there might be ladies in distress and I could be their gallant savior.”

  Now here was a handsome man she could appreciate.

  The conversation was full of polite comments as they proceeded to the Union Hotel. Wasn’t the weather perfect? The bride didn’t seem nervous at all. The little flower girls forgot to smile. Would Sorina be able to live away from her ranch if Lance was called to work in Monterey or San Diego?

  She welcomed the captain’s attempt to engage her, since it prevented her thoughts from straying to Gabriel and his infuriating nonchalance.

  Isabella’s mood was decidedly improved when they finally arrived. She gazed at the grand facade of the hotel and remembered when she and Sorina had stayed here. Lance had been confined by the American military, and Sorina had worn a disguise so she could visit him. She’d always been a bold one. Would marriage tame her?

  Captain Sutherland helped Isabella alight, a broad smile on his face. “May I escort you in?”

  “Of course.”

  They strolled into the lobby. A chandelier with brilliant crystals reflected light from long windows flanked by red velvet curtains. The smell of lemon wax and leather vied with the fragrance from large bouquets of roses scattered throughout the room.

  Isabella breathed in the scent and watched well-dressed ladies and gentlemen conversing on velvet-covered settees.

  They were directed past a staircase of polished wood to a large dining hall, where the wedding party was already seated at a head table. Isabella noted the empty chair next to Gabriel.

  Turning to Captain Sutherland, she extended her hand and smiled as warmly as she could. “Thank you for your escort.”

  He bowed formally. “My pleasure.”

  She took her leave and made her way between the tables to the front of the room. A hand reached out, grabbed her wrist, and halted her progress.

  “Señora Fuentes. How nice to see you again. I hope you are giving my final offer consideration?”

  She jerked her arm away as if bitten by a snake.

  “Señor Logan. I didn’t know you were acquainted with the Vega family.” Her eyes narrowed as she focused on the fair-haired man in front of her. He was ostentatiously turned out in a blue coat that fit a bit too snugly, with an oversized gem holding his n
eckcloth in place. She wondered if it was real.

  “I’m not. But who can resist a wedding, and who will notice me among a hundred guests?”

  “Enjoy your meal.” She continued toward the head table.

  Suddenly the thought of sitting next to Gabriel was more appealing.

  Chapter 2

  Gabriel scanned the crowd, trying to find Isabella. He spotted her at the end of the room, talking to someone he didn’t know. Her breathing was rapid and her color was high as she hurried to the head table. Something was wrong.

  Pulling out her chair, he waited for her to sit, curious about the confrontation he’d just witnessed.

  “What was that all about?”

  “Nothing I can’t take care of myself,” she said, her fists clenched.

  “Who is that man?”

  “His name is Drake Logan. He’s a lawyer, recently come to Los Angeles.”

  Gabriel narrowed his eyes. “Are you in some kind of legal trouble?”

  She glared at him while she took off her gloves, laying them neatly by her plate. “No.”

  “Then what does he want with you?”

  She turned to him in exasperation. “Can’t you leave it alone, Gabriel? This is my business. I can take care of it myself.”

  “I don’t doubt that. I’m merely curious.” He kept his tone even. “You know, Bella, you can rely on others. You don’t have to be so damned independent.” Isabella was alone. Her parents were dead, and her two brothers lived near Yerba Buena. Even her late husband’s family was scattered.

  “You have no right to be questioning me.” She lifted her fan and waved it vigorously in front of her face.

  True. He’d forfeited his right to be involved in her life years ago. It didn’t mean he would forget what he saw. The man had put his hand on her, and the normally unflappable Isabella was upset.

  “You’re prickly, my dear. Perhaps you need a glass of champagne to improve your mood. I hear it is from a French ship, the Artois. May I secure you a glass?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  He rose and strode to the bar, leaning against it while his order was filled. The table where Logan sat was populated entirely by strangers, Americans, by the look of them. He recognized only one, a banker who was known to lend money freely to the rancheros. The group seemed deep in conversation.

  I wonder who invited them.

  He brought the two glasses of champagne back to the table, noting that Sorina and Lance were making their way around the room, greeting guests and receiving their good wishes.

  Isabella was still pensive, her eyes troubled, and she kept stealing glances at the stranger.

  Setting a glass down in front of her, Gabriel plopped into his chair, propped his elbow on the table, and rested his chin on the palm of his hand. Maybe he could steer her thoughts away from whatever was bothering her.

  “You’re unusually quiet, my dear. Perhaps you were overcome by the beauty of the ceremony. The bride and groom are so well suited, don’t you think? And so passionately in love. The ceremony must have brought back memories of your own wedding, even though your groom was . . . shall we say, past his prime?”

  She glared at him, her eyes glistening.

  Bloody hell, he’d gone too far.

  “I apologize for that remark, Isabella. Why don’t we call a truce?” What was he thinking, to goad her like that? He just couldn’t seem to help himself.

  Her response was measured, controlled, as if she purposely thought about each word before she spoke. “If you mean it, then I accept your apology.” She swallowed. “In fact, it would be best if we were to sit in silence. I would consider it infinitely more peaceful than trying to top your next barb.”

  He refrained from curling his lip in his usual style and, instead, nodded and turned to speak to his father, who was sitting two chairs away. The waiters placed food before the guests, and soon it would be time for Gabriel to make his speech. Father was jovial, almost giddy about the number of guests who had accepted his invitation. All of Alta California society was present. It was what the English would call a “crush,” and Father was delighted.

  Gabriel itched to ask him if he knew the lawyer who had upset Isabella, but she’d overhear him, and he didn’t want to vex her any further. She still fidgeted, moving her food around her plate without eating. He would ask later.

  Taking a bite of pheasant in wine sauce, he turned back to the crowd. A mixture of military men, newly-arrived Americans, and the native Mexican rancheros, the crowd was a blend of what Gabriel expected the new California would be.

  Already the pueblo of Los Angeles was bustling. New buildings were under construction, and new institutions would soon be in place. For now, Mexican officials remained in office, settling disputes and administering justice according to the legal system in place before the Americans came.

  Based on what he’d seen in Oregon Territory—where he’d spent his exile—he wondered how soon settlers would arrive seeking land.

  As with any blended culture, a proportionate share of carpetbaggers, scoundrels, and thieves would sneak in. Some of the new buildings were saloons and brothels, and he knew the ranchos were being scoured for workers. Mexicans, Indians and mestizos were being lured to the city with the promise of a better life. Most of his father’s vaqueros chose to remain on the ranch, but a few of his house servants had left to seek their fortunes in the city.

  So tempting for them . . . and so dangerous.

  Gabriel feared for his workers, but he worried more about his father’s class—people who had known a life of leisure and wealth, of barbecues and horse races and rodeos. With the Americans came taxes and compound interest. No longer would a handshake suffice for business. Documents would be required for every transaction, from men who knew little more than to put their “X” on the signature line.

  Some of those scoundrels are in this very room.

  His eyes shifted back to the stranger, who was now in a deep discussion with the man sitting next to him. Gabriel craned his neck to get a better view, but all he could see was the man’s slicked-back hair.

  A hand brushed his arm. “Uncle Gabriel, it is time for the toast.”

  He smiled at his niece. Her beautiful face showed she was ready to begin the agreed-upon rituals. No doubt she was eager for this part of the day to end so she could be alone with her new husband.

  Gabriel, half standing already, straightened and signaled to the band, girding himself for the role he must play. He’d be on display many times during the next few days. His place in the wedding party required it.

  A trumpet sounded a blast, like the beginning of a bullfight. Every eye turned toward him as he raised his glass.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of my family, I welcome you. We are here today to honor the sacred union of my beautiful niece, Sorina Braithwaite, to Lance Grainger, formerly of the United States Navy. Are they not a handsome couple?”

  “Hear, hear!”

  “Join me in wishing them long life, enduring prosperity, and many children . . . to Sorina and Lance.”

  “To Sorina and Lance,” echoed the crowd.

  “Enjoy your meals, and be sure to join us in the grand ballroom this evening for a continuation of our celebration. Salud!”

  He sat down and met Isabella’s eyes.

  “That was very nice,” she said.

  “You mean you finally approve of something I did?”

  “We will not discuss your past actions, or should I say, inactions? This time you did well.”

  “High praise coming from such a stickler for propriety.”

  “Someone has to behave properly. It certainly won’t be you.”

  He laughed. He couldn’t help himself. As he watched, he saw the corners of her mouth turn up as well
. Maybe these wedding festivities could undo some of the damage he caused years ago. He hoped so.

  I’ve missed you, querida.

  ~ ~ ~

  Isabella moved the food on her plate into separate piles. She’d been ravenous when she entered the room, but her appetite had given way to make space for the knot of worry now crowding her stomach.

  I can’t believe Logan had the nerve to come here uninvited.

  He was here to annoy her, to remind her he was well connected and wouldn’t go away.

  The first time Drake Logan had showed up on her doorstep, she’d politely invited him in. He hadn’t appeared to be a traveler, but Mexican society welcomed strangers who needed a place to stay for the night, and she hadn’t been sure. The lawyer had been gracious and kind at first, explaining his business and why it was in her best interest to sell. He’d told her she would have to go to court to prove she owned her ranch. The process would be costly and time-consuming because American courts required specific documentation. Had her husband kept records? Would they be good enough? If she sold to Logan, she could avoid all that tedious paperwork. His offer would be generous. She could spend her remaining days living comfortably in town.

  Remaining days?

  That was when she’d thrown him out. Politely.

  He came back, this time weighed down with law books. His banker came with him to verify his assertions. This time she’d refused to let them enter the house, telling them she had urgent business elsewhere. They’d finally left, and she was sure she’d heard an obscenity that made her cringe.

  The last visit had been no better.

  They didn’t know her, or know that her late husband had not only taught her to read and write, but also to cipher, and to understand the basics of Mexican land policies and the intricacies of his ranch business. She was smart—everyone said so—and she would learn all she needed to know about American property rights.